


heart, i implore you

by tendereye



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (for the most part because they do have an interesting dynamic), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ass Play, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, F/M, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Shower Sex, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Valentine's Day, ben is a plant daddy, but he is also a little bit of an ass, idiots falling in love, use of the r-pe word but nothing like that occurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendereye/pseuds/tendereye
Summary: To pretend the entire situation wasn’t happening, she walked over to a sprawling plant, set on a table in a gorgeous jade and gold pot. She reached out with a fingernail (self-administered Sally Hansen manicure) to stroke one of the dark, glossy leaves.Ben made a little sound that could only be calleddistressedand she turned to find him watching her, his shoulders slightly tensed. He cleared his throat and then: “Please. Sophia doesn’t like to be touched.”Or: This Valentine's Day, Rey just wants to get laid. She gets five grand and Ben Solo instead.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 67
Kudos: 304





	1. won't you be my problem?

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I started writing this nearish to the end of last year bc I wanted to offer a little something to the fandom that helped me survive 2020! it is just a love story between two people that really really need it. as a heads up, there will be rather oblique references to mental health struggles, but if even a passing mention is too much for you rn (which, I get it!) perhaps skip out on this one.

When she knocked on his door, she expected to be the weird one. 

When the man opened it in a chartreuse suit jacket, a pair of jet black boxer briefs (she got stuck there for a second because holy _shit_ , what a dick) and equally dark socks crawling up his calves, she realized she was probably _not_ the weird one. 

His gaze was bright as it slunk down her body. Like a lecher who was only curious. He didn’t say anything, merely turned up a bottle of Jack Daniels and looked at her. After a long pull, he gave one of those movie-man grimaces. 

“What can I do ya for?” he asked, like someone’s midwestern father. It was a little hard to hear him. Classical music played from somewhere in his apartment, at a volume just above comfortable. 

Rey weighed her options thoughtfully. He was big. In a way that automatically activated her flight or fuck response. She had her taser though. It _probably_ had enough shock to take him down.

“I just wanted to know if I could get out on your balcony real quick?”

An eyebrow darted up. “You trying to rob me, Polka Dots?” She must have looked confused because he pointed vaguely in the direction of her crotch. “They’re cute, and 6C definitely does not deserve to see them. But then again, you showed the whole neighborhood, so I guess he’s not special.” 

Rey felt herself go so red hot so fast that it hurt. An equal mix of rage and embarrassment.

(Okay, so, yes, she’d definitely been making out with that guy on his balcony. Which was how she’d dropped her clutch. And how everything had gone bouncing out of it. And how’d she’d watched, through the slats in the balcony as her ID bounced down into the potted plants on the balcony below. 

Of course, she’d only dropped the clutch because Danny had gotten too handsy. She’d had every intention of fucking him. Except that he had dirty fingernails and kept trying to shove them inside her. 

Danny was meant to only be good for a free dinner—crummy prix fixe, with overdone steak but he was moderately funny so it was fine—and a solid dicking. But she could not bear the thought of those disgusting fingernails. Made her Sahara-dry. That and he’d been trying to finger her _on his balcony_ when it was well below freezing.)

The guy’s face was serious as he licked his lips, tongue darting out to catch an errant drop of bourbon.

“Look, I think my ID fell down here into one of your plants. I just want to look really quick.” She blinks big. Going for doe eyes. “Please?” 

At least Weirdo had clean fingernails. He gave her another up and down look. Not suspicious, but not assessing either. “Come in.” 

Rey stepped into the apartment. He—or someone—had done a lot of work to the space that made it look like an adult lived there. Two of the walls were covered in book cases, with a small space carved out for a flatscreen TV. To her right was the sliding glass door, and said balcony. There were a lot of plants too. Enough that they stole her breath in surprise. Covering surfaces and filling corners and hanging from the ceiling. 

Plants weren’t really her thing, per se, but she did recognize a couple of spider plants, a fern and something she only remembered because of its name: A swiss cheese plant. In addition to the books. The space was very...decorated. Both magazine-like and lived-in. 

He gave her a ridiculous bow, from the waist and gestured in the direction of the glass door. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor as she crossed the room. She could feel his eyes on her, but chose to ignore him instead. 

The door opened with a steady woosh, and the cold barrelled in around her. 

“Fuck,” they said in unison, and exchanged a look.

It _was_ a decent view of the city. Fancy-ish. Not high-rise views but good enough. (Good enough that she paused for a moment and took in that twinkle. It had the nerve to be a bit magical, to make her feel that blend of possibility and melancholy loneliness.) 

The door slammed shut behind her and she turned to see the weird guy settling on one of the lounge chairs. He simply looked at her as he folded his arms behind his head and stretched out the (excessively) long length of his body. She glanced up and realized with a frown that he probably could see her undies very well indeed. 

“Where’s your coat?” he asked. 

Grabbing the lapels of her pleather jacket (eleven dollars, clearance rack, Forever21), she said, “You’re looking at it.” 

His dark eyebrows rose, but he didn’t say anything. She didn’t point out the hypocrisy, either. Rey didn’t have any names for the plants he kept outside. But if the inside of his apartment was vaguely jungle-like, then the outside was a dense, hardy forest. They covered the balcony, the big ones resting in their own massive pots and the others sitting on tiny tables, or in hanging pots on his wall. 

Rey moved to the corner when she thought she’d seen her ID fall and bent to search the plants. They smelled good too. An embodiment of everything corporations wanted to make the holidays smell like 

“Jesus, Polka Dots, you got a nice ass.” 

“Fuck you,” Rey retorted without looking back at him. It _had_ to be here somewhere. The sounds of the city rushing below her with the perfect background for her growing panic. _Shit_ , she was going to have to get a new fucking ID, which probably meant finding at least a day or a half day off work and—

"So. Rey 'No Middle Name' Johnson. Hair: Brown. Eyes—"

Rey whirled on him. Weird guy was sitting as he had been before, only he was holding her ID in his hand. 

"Motherfucker," she said, both resigned and incredulous. 

He merely blinked at her, his eyes hooded. "I was going to give it back to you. But then you talked so much shit about my jacket."

Rey’s jaw clenched. "I didn't say a word about your jacket." 

"Your _eyes_ talked a lot of shit about my jacket," he said, holding up a hand to ward off anything else.

Rey stuck out her hand for the ID, but he ignored it. "Why no middle name?" he asked.

She sighed and stuck the heels of her hands into her eyes."I didn't know it. When I went into foster care. It didn't matter."

"But Rey though? R-E-Y? Not like, R-A-E even. " 

She huffed. “Apparently, I was pretty adamant about the Y. I guess whoever filed the paperwork was trying to do me a favor. Can I have that back now?”

Weird Guy stuffed the ID into the pocket of his horrible jacket as she opened her eyes again. “Wait,” he said, “finish the story first.” 

She blinked. “Do you mean the story of how I got into foster care?” At his nod, she exploded. “No, you freak, that is _not_ the kind of thing you go around telling strangers.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong. Telling a stranger is the best. You never see that person again.” His voice dipped. “But someone still...witnesses your shit, you know?” 

Expression flattened, he gazed out beyond her. Beyond the city around them even. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took another small sip, like he was just wetting his mouth. Rey collapsed onto the other lounger, elbows on her knees and hands lifted to cup her face. She didn’t say anything for a long time. His skin was turning pink. Red. He didn’t seem to notice—or care. 

“They found me. I don’t remember where. I do remember that it was a gas station. The guy found me, when he went to the bathroom. I guess I was...standing there? Waiting. I don’t know. But anyway. I knew my name was Rey. Or that I was called Rey anyway.” 

_I don’t know_ was easy to say. It was harder to say that her feet had started to hurt, so she’d sat down on the ground and drawn shapes in the dust. It was harder to say that there had been two men. The first man had taught her that no matter your age, they would look at you like meat, and the second had taught her that perhaps they weren’t all bad. 

She was pretty sure the name her parents had given her wasn’t Rey. It could have been anything. Rachel. Kathryn. Beatrice. But she could remember her mother calling her a ray of sunshine. She _could_ remember that. (She could remember _that_ without hurting.)

Rey ran a hand through her hair. It was starting to snow. Hard. They were both going to freeze to death. Good. A fitting end for this shitty Valentine’s Day. “Foster care,” she said slowly, “until I was eighteen. A bunch of fucked up homes. But I got lucky. I got out okay. I’ve made some friends. I have a job. I’m in school. My apartment is a shithole. But it’s the shithole I share with my best friend, Finn.” 

Ben was watching her, his head tilted just a little, puppy dog style. “Finn,” he repeated. “P-H-I-N.” Rey let out a wet laugh and was surprised to find she was crying. Must have been the cold. “Hey,” he said, a voice so gentle, that she wished he would be quiet, “that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.” 

His head was still cocked to one side, his inky hair turning white, when she said, “So, what’s your shit?” 

Weirdo gave her a strange look as she gestured for the bottle. He passed it and watched her mouth as it latched around the end. Rey drank so long, it would have had a lesser person choking.

“Out with it,” she said, refusing to relinquish the bottle when he flipped his fingers in a _gimme_ motion. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Tale as old as time. Mommy and Daddy didn’t love me enough.” 

“So, not a girl?” Rey asked, and winced.

“Not a girl,” he agreed. He was wearing the closest thing she’d seen to a smile. To her horror, she smiled back, before promptly flipping it into a frown. 

“We should go inside,” she announced. “It’s cold. You don’t have any pants on. Or _shoes_.” Or a shirt underneath that fugly-ass jacket, but that was beyond the point. 

She stood and offered him her hand. His fingers in her palm were like chunks of ice. And yet. 

(And yet, it knocked her sideways like maybe she’d never been touched before this very moment, holding hands with a giant half-naked moron.) 

He only let her help him part of the way because at a certain point it ceased to matter. He was too tall. He gestured for her to lead the way back inside. On the other side of the locked glass door, Weirdo peeled off his soggy socks and wriggled his toes on the floor. He wasn’t graceful about it either, stumbling from cold or alcohol or both. When he asked for the bottle, she gave it to him. 

Rey sniffled some more and toyed with her clutch. “So, if you give me my ID, I’ll call an Uber or something.” 

He looked at her for a moment, and flipped the ID through his fingers, like she’d sometimes seen people do with pens. It barely made a sound, but it was about the only sound in the room. A soft _flick flick flick._

Just when she thought that he might not, he pressed the ID into her palm and her fingers closed around it tight enough to leech the color from the tips. But she didn’t move. She didn’t look him in the eye, but she didn’t move.

“Do you wanna play Scrabble?” 

She jerked her head to look at him. It was his turn to look away, rubbing the back of his neck with a charming sheepishness. (She didn’t _not_ want to play Scrabble.) 

“I’m not good with words and stuff. I like math much better.” 

His nose wrinkled. “We could play Monopoly.”

Rey let out another laugh and his expression turned. He looked stung. “Sorry, I’m not really laughing at you. I do like Monopoly. I’m gross and cold and stuff and I should probably go home and shower.” 

“I got a shower,” he replied, jerking a thumb toward his hallway. A long beat passed and Rey swayed inside her boots, pulled in one direction and then the other. So, so weird but: she didn’t want to go. 

Then he said: “Look. 6C didn’t deserve you, Polka Dots. But the night doesn’t have to be a complete loss.” 

Rey took a deep breath. This had _bad idea_ written all over it. In big, blinking, neon red letters. 

“Is this like, a thing you do?”

“A...thing?”

“Yeah. I don’t know, is this a weird rape and murder scenario thing you do?”

He made an aggrieved noise, a huff. “I— _you_ knocked on _my_ door.” 

(Hm. Fair.)

“I’ll pay you,” he said, the words low, like they’d been choked out.

Rey’s lips curled involuntarily. “Oh, fuck _you_. You think I’ll have sex with you because I grew up poor or whatever?”

A blink and purse of his lips. “I’m not paying you for sex.” 

“For _companionship_ , then?” Nod, brief and sharp. Rey crossed her arms and sniffled. She really wanted out of these clothes. “I don’t know if I believe you. And I don’t wanna get raped and murdered.” 

Weirdo rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. “Jesus fuck—” He lumbered over to the coffee table and snatched up his phone. His next words were directed at her. “Enough with the rape and murder. Just google me.” 

There he was. Or, a well-coiffed, probably sober version of him. Benjamin Solo, with a handful of meaningless letters behind his name with an office line and an email where he could be reached. VP, Acquisitions something-something.

“Benjamin,” was all she said. 

“Call me Ben.” He rubbed his mouth with his hand once and then again. “You can send P-H-I-N my address. Phone number. Let someone know where you are. I...” The hand at his mouth squeezed into a tight fist, pressing hard for a second. “I think I’m realizing I...would rather not be alone tonight.” 

(She could see that it had cost him something to say it, to admit it.)

Rey sighed. “How much?” 

He opened his mouth, a disgustingly pretty little _oh_ , like he went to say something and closed like he thought better of it. “How much do you want?”

Eyes narrowed, Rey said, “Five grand,” and rattled off her Venmo. 

He smiled with too much teeth. “Done.” 

Her phone buzzed with the transaction, but her stomach dropped, and she counted back, realizing where she’d miscalculated. “How much would you have given me?”

“Twice that,” he answered with a lazy flick of his wrist. He started tapping at his phone again.

“You’re serious?” He nodded and she went on: “I said I wasn’t having sex with you. I’m _not_ having sex with you.” (Probably.) 

A closed mouth smile threatened to cross his face. “Okay. But I’m really good at it, so you might change your mind.” 

“Oh my God, now I know you’re lying.” 

Weird Guy—Ben—clicked his tongue and shrugged. 

To pretend the entire situation wasn’t happening, she walked over to a sprawling plant, set on a table in a gorgeous jade and gold pot. She reached out with a fingernail (self-administered Sally Hansen manicure) to stroke one of the dark, glossy leaves. 

Ben made a little sound that could only be called _distressed_ and she turned to find him watching her, his shoulders slightly tensed. He cleared his throat and then: “Please. Sophia doesn’t like to be touched.” 

“Sophia.” She failed to turn the word into the question it was meant to be, and he didn’t say anything at all. “Do they _all_ have names?”

He did the thing again, passed his tongue over his teeth. “Yes.” 

She pointed to another plant next to Sophia. “What’s this one?”

A little sigh. “Rose.” 

Quelling the laugh rising in her throat, Rey pointed to another. “And this one?”

“Dorothy.” 

Rey made a noise (she was pretty sure the laugh was going to come whether she liked it or not). “And this one?”

A much bigger sigh. “You know.” 

“Yes,” Rey agreed, breathless with the effort of holding herself together, “but I want to hear you say it.” 

That music blared on in the lull, and they stared at one another. His eyes were hazel. They were hazel and beautiful and a little bit sad, and his gaze was heavy on her lower lip as she bit into it. 

“That’s Blanche Devereaux.” 

The sound of her laughter was louder than his music by a lot, and she laughed until her stomach hurt and she’d sunk to the floor with tears streaming down her face. He didn’t even crack a smile (which only made it funnier). 

She laughed the whole time he disappeared around the corner, toward what she could only assume was the kitchen, based on the layout of Danny’s apartment. After a lot of rustling, he returned with a bag of dill pickle kettle chips. Her favorite. 

He ate and watched her pull herself back to rights. When she was able to speak again, she whirled a finger in the air and asked, “What is this shit?”

A massive crunch. “Rachmaninoff. And don’t call it shit.” 

That sent Rey into another peal of laughter that she couldn’t explain and he kept eating. “I think you picked the wrong _companion_.” 

She was struck quiet by the sight of him sucking chip residue off his thumb. “No. I don’t think so.” 

Throat suddenly dry, she gave a hard swallow. “Ben?”

“Yeah, Rey?”

“What if I want to have sex?”

He finally gave her a smile, a real one this time. “Then _you_ will have to pay _me_.” Ben shoved more kettle chips in his mouth and said: “Want me to show you how the shower works?”

Licking her lips, Rey nodded. She was going to fuck the weirdo in 5C, with the ugly jacket and bourbon breath. 

(Shit.)


	2. you're mine and you know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben Solo has a filthy mouth.  
> (and a thing for Lynda Carter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS. This was only supposed to be two parts, but I could not wrangle the monster that was part two down to a reasonable length. SO. There will be a part three. This is explicitly a Valentine's Day fic, and I personally hate when holidays overstay their welcome, so I will get part three up ASAP. 
> 
> In the meantime, this one is quite smutty and I hope you enjoy!

They stood a few feet apart in his bedroom, staring each other down as she stepped out of one shoe and then the other. The bedroom was as pretty as the rest of the apartment, as filled with plants too, though they were mostly succulents. But in every shape and size, with a surprising array of colors dappled throughout. Otherwise, there were mostly cool tones of gray and white black, sleek and a little boring. 

“We’re going to have sex, aren’t we?” She said it like a question, but it wasn’t, not really. Because it seemed...inevitable. The sun would rise. The tide would come in. Taxes would come due and birds would fly. She and Ben would fuck. 

Ben gave her one short nod as he worried the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Made it stick out from the side of his face in a lump. “How old  _ are  _ you, anyway?” She could tell he was trying to sound casual as he asked the question, but he failed. 

“Twenty-one.” She tossed her jacket to the floor. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said, with a wince and wrestled out of the chartreuse monstrosity. He let it join hers.

“How old are you?” She picked nervously at the hem of her sodden dress. 

“ _ Thirty _ -one.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, oh.” 

She considered, and tried not to  _ look _ at him. He was so damn wide, across the shoulders and the chest, muscular and just... _ thick _ . Solid. So much bigger than she was. She could throw herself onto him and he could catch her. Maybe not even stumble.

Clearing her throat she said, “That’s not so bad.” 

He snorted. “You say that when you’re the one who’s thirty-one.” 

“Could be worse,” she replied, fake-cheery. “At least you met me  _ now _ when I’m about to graduate. You could have met me when I was like, eighteen. A brand new adult.” 

Ben’s expression soured. “No, you probably looked fucking—I don’t know— _ twelve _ when you were eighteen. No thanks.” His expression turned to something like thoughtful and he stroked his chin too. 

“You bring up a good point, though. I haven’t had coed pussy since I  _ was  _ a coed.” 

Rey rolled her eyes. “You’re disgusting.” She watched his face shift as she peeled the mallrat red dress off and left it in a pool on the floor. This was the fanciest underwear she owned—so, not very fancy at all. They just happened to be a matching set. Black and white polka dots, trimmed in black lace. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Her head snapped up to look at him. She’d gotten lots of things before:  _ hot, sexy, fuckable _ . 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard  _ beautiful  _ and she also wasn’t sure if she wanted to stab him or kiss him. And that  _ look _ on his face. She felt like she was getting caged in. Smaller and smaller. A fish in a tiny tank. A bird in a cage that barely left space for its wings to open. Her own body, mummified in shrink wrap. 

And his eyes burned brighter with something she had no name for and she wished like hell she  _ did _ have a knife. 

His voice was unnervingly low when he said, “You can say ‘Thank you, Ben.’” 

Mouth dry, the words laying on her tongue, making it heavy and sticky in her mouth. He squinted just a little and took a step closer, and instinct alone made her take a step back. 

“You  _ are _ beautiful. And you should learn to take a compliment.” They did the dance again: a step closer, a step back. “And if you say, ‘Thank you, Ben,’ I’ll make you come.” 

Rey went instantly, stupidly wet between her legs. He said it as much like a threat as it was a promise and the certainty of it made her pulse, clenching down around nothing. He hadn’t even  _ touched _ her. 

He took another step, a big one and she got lucky (and unlucky) falling against the wall in a narrow space between a full length mirror and a dresser. He was on her then, one hand braced at her head and so thoroughly in her space, that she wanted to grab him, have him then. ( _ Wanting  _ like this was new, brand new.) 

Ben was mumbling, murmuring, but not  _ touching her _ . He didn’t even make her look at him. She stared at his collarbones instead, as he spoke as her ears finally let her hear everything. 

“...and you—I’m going to say something rude, Rey, as a warning.” 

Rey swallowed. She might like rude. 

“I want to see how pink your nipples are. Can I turn them red with my mouth? And your cunt—do you know what you taste like, Rey?” At her shake of the head, he gave a sigh, like maybe he was very put-upon. “I want to see you taste yourself from my fingers. I want to see you, mouth open and begging because only _ I _ can make you feel better. I’m not gonna—what happened? 6C rushed, didn’t he?” She nodded that time. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll kiss you and stroke you until you’re wet and swollen and crying for it. Like a man fucks. You don’t have to play games with boys.”

Almost before she’d realized it happened, Ben dropped a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s go get warmed up.” 

Ignoring that, Rey grabbed his face and pulled his mouth to hers. He breathed a humph of surprise into her mouth, but opened for her when she fisted his hair, pulled tight until he gasped. 

“I want to taste,” she said against his lips and swept her tongue inside. Bourbon and dill. She should have regretted her decision, but she didn’t, not the way he moaned and slammed both of his hands against the wall. ( _ Not the wall _ , she thought,  _ touch  _ me.  _ Hurt  _ me.) 

So, she hurt him instead. She dug her fingernails into his scalp until she tasted his hiss and his grunt. He pulled away, biting at her lip enough to make her jump. 

“I was going to ask you what you’re into, what you like.” She gasped as he bit at her earlobe, more jumping, a little hurt. “But I think you’ll like whatever the fuck I want to give you. Isn’t that right?”

_ Yes _ . (Fuck yes, please.) 

She nodded, head spinning and she finally got her wish: one of his massive hands crept over, made a loose collar around her throat. His teeth scraped at her jaw as he spoke, tasting and licking at her. 

“I’m going to have to teach you to speak when spoken to. You. Will take. Whatever. I give you. Won’t you?”

“Yes."

It seemed to take him some effort to pull away but when he finally did, and righted himself his mouth was as swollen looking as hers felt.

"Go get in the shower," he said, and turned her, bodily, in the direction of the bathroom. 

Rainforest. 

That's what his bathroom was. She shouldn't have been surprised that there were more plants and yet. The leaves of one hung down from the ceiling to brush the countertop. He would probably fuss again if she touched it so she just stood in front of the mirror and stripped out of her bra and underwear. 

"I don't usually do this, you know?" she called as she tried to smooth her drying hair 

He hummed loud, a question. "Like, one night stands. Going home with strangers." 

Ben strode into the room, completely naked. And without any effort to hide it, Rey let her eyes drop down to his huge dick. 

(There was no way it was fitting inside her. But she felt herself get wetter still at the size of it, because clearly her body wanted to  _ try _ .)

She only had a second to look because he fisted a hand in the back of her head and cranked it to one side. He caught her eye in the mirror as licked a long stripe up her exposed neck. 

"Are you scared I'm going to think you're a slut?"

As he spoke, he gave each of her nipples a vicious pinch, and she jerked, unsure if she wanted to push closer or pull away. 

He made the decision for her. Ben crowded her into the counter with his body, pressing her pussy against the ledge. Another time, another day, another man even, and she might say it was too much. The way he sucked bruises into her neck, and bit her ears and toyed with her tits. Moaning even when (especially when) he really pushed the edge of pain. 

She was so wet, she could feel it on her thighs.

Ben pulled away with a sigh, holding her gaze in the mirror."It's one night, Rey. You can be a little slut here with me for one night, can't you?" 

A moment passed and he clapped her ass cheek with a quick, light palm. It hurt, but only for a second. Even so, his message was clear:  _ speak when spoken to _ . 

“Y-yes.” It was more hesitant than the first time, but she managed. 

Making her gasp with shock, he pulled her ass cheeks apart. “You ever had it up the ass?” She shook her head. Rey watched his reflection as he let a long string of spit dribble from his lips and by the time it landed where he was holding her open, it had already begun to cool. 

He was too tall. 

She hadn’t expected him to be gentle, but his thumb was soft as it circled her and pressed lightly. She moaned anyway, loud and slapping her hands on the counter as he sank a finger inside her pussy. 

Were his hands really so big, and was she really so small that he could cup her like that? Fill her so easily in both places?

“Unfortunately, we’d have to work you up to my dick. But you’ve got a very responsive little asshole. You’re soaking my fingers.” Her hands curled and uncurled and without looking up from his task, he said, “Hey, watch out for Hamlet.” 

It took Rey a second to come back from the pleasure where he’d pushed her to say, “Hamlet.” 

With the hand not buried in her cunt, he pointed at some of the other plants in the room. “Iago, Mercutio, Malvolio, Desdemona.” 

Rey giggled. “You’re such a fucking—oh my God, Ben again,  _ please _ .” 

“I just  _ barely _ pushed it in.” But he did it again, and Rey wailed and he did it  _ again  _ and just as she was about to tip over, he said, “Say it. Say ‘Thank you, Ben.’” 

_ And I’ll make you come _ . 

The words tumbled out of her mouth like she’d just been waiting for that moment, and then his thumb was in her ass and his fingers were working her clit and she came, weak-kneed and with embarrassing bucking like she was in a porno. 

She came down to find him watching her in the mirror, an eyebrow raised. 

“Why Shakespeare?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. 

“I happen to think he would’ve found it hilarious that I named all the plants in the room made for shitting, after his characters.” 

Rey found him most hilarious at his most earnest, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Once he cranked on the water (gloriously hot in seconds, unlike her apartment where she had to go dick around for ten minutes until it was bearable) she needed his support to make it from sink to shower. 

But he wasn’t done with her. 

He got to his knees on the tile, and nuzzled his face against her chest, a gesture both tender and filthy. The water made everything silky. His skin, his hair, his tongue. Ben made a meal of lapping water from her nipples. Catching droplets as they made tracks across her skin. The barest scrape of teeth turned her skin pink and then he licked that too, soothing the world’s most satisfying sting. 

“What,” he said, pausing to suckle red into her skin, “is your favorite color?” 

“Ah—yellow. What’s yours?” 

“Gray,” he said in the millisecond before he tried to suck her whole damn breast in his mouth. “Perfect mouthfuls,” he said, clearly more to himself than her. 

Rey gasped as he switched to the other. “That’s not a real answer to that question.” 

“Why not?” Ben asks before licking his way down toward her belly button. 

“N—no one’s favorite color is gray.” 

He looks up at her, eyes hooded. He’s not just handsome, he’s beautiful. “It’s mine.” A pause. “Spread your legs, Rey.” 

She did and he eased a finger inside her with frustrating slowness. Then another. He worked on a third.

The water pelted down on both of them, and on the one hand she kept thinking about what a waste it was but on the other if he moved even an inch, she was going to murder someone. 

“Look at your tight little cunt taking my fingers. You’re doing so good, Rey. So good for me.” 

Rey whimpered, her head pressed so hard to the tiled wall, she was sure a headache was coming. She risked cutting a glance down at him and found him already looking at her, his eyes hooded under too-long lashes, his hair raked back from his face in a wet cascade of inky black. 

“You’re going to come on my fingers  _ again _ , aren’t you? I don’t even need to use my mouth.” She nodded because her body was already jerking toward him, unable to stop riding the fingers inside her. “Say it.” 

“I—I’m going to come on your fingers.” Rey felt her cheeks go red hot, but was undeniable. His fingers pushed just a little more, curled deeper, finding that spot inside her that threatened to make her vision white out around the edges. 

She closed her eyes and stuttered on his name, because she didn’t give herself many orgasms that way, and the pressure was relentless, tugging her down, out of herself, out of her own control. She was on the verge of asking him to stop, because it was too much. Then she felt his tongue swipe against her clit and she came, shaking and twitching against his mouth and his fingers and it was only his hands on her waist holding her upright.

He rose from his crouch with an unfair grace. His dick strained with impertinence against her stomach. He palmed her ass with one hand, tilted her up toward him at the very moment her fist closed around his  _ considerable _ length. 

“I can’t take this thing in here, Ben. I need a bed. Maybe lube.” 

(Definitely lube.)

His response was only a slurred,  _ fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,  _ as she pumped. She was liquid from the most spectacular orgasms of her year, maybe her life, and her lazy strokes slid from root to tip like she had . 

“I’m going to make you come, Ben.” 

“Yeah, fuck—yeah.” His head drooped forward. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were closed, lost to what she was doing. With his body blocking the water, she can feel the difference between the water and the slickness that’s all him, that’s coming so steadily from his dick it makes her feel heady. 

“You’re going to come from my hand...I don’t even have to use my mouth, do I?” 

He laughs at her teasing, a grumpy little huff. “I want to come in your cunt.” 

“No, I need a fucking different position.” 

Ben made a face like maybe he wanted to argue, but he must’ve decided against it. Without looking up, he folded his hand down around hers, forcing them both to squeeze harder, move faster and he fucked her fist with a brutality she wouldn’t have used on her own. It was really only seconds before he gave a gasping groan. Rey watched, mesmerized, as he shot hot and hard onto her stomach. Some of his cum spurts so high, it clings to her breasts, and she feels herself get wet all over again. 

“Put it in,” he said, voice ragged. “Put it in you. A fucking compromise.” 

Rey took her time and a steadying breath. She tried to commit to memory the hot slickness of his cum and the warm trembling of her own skin underneath as she dragged two fingers through his mess. 

They both groaned when her sticky fingers find their way inside her and Ben mumbled another curse. After a long moment, she held his gaze as she put the fingers in her mouth to clean up what was left. 

“All of it,” he said with a hoarse whisper. “Clean up my  _ fucking _ mess.” 

It was a long time before he turned around to cut the spray. 

  
  
  


Later, as they put on lotion, and Rey discovered how  _ vain _ Ben was about his hair and his skincare: 

“You can’t simply ask, ‘what’s your favorite movie,’ and expect a good answer.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You need criteria to narrow it down. Your favorite comedy or action movie.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“What’s your favorite movie then?”

“21 Jump Street.” 

“...like with Channing Tatum?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Please tell me you have wine.” 

  
  
  
  


They’d both had a couple of glasses and he’d given her another orgasm (with his mouth, by his electric fireplace, while she wore nothing but his t-shirt) by time she persuaded him to give her a plant tour. 

“Are you going to keep making fun of me?” he asked, but there was no heat in it. 

“Yes.” 

He rolled his eyes, but moved the wine glasses so they wouldn’t be knocked over as they got up from the floor. 

“Give me a piggyback ride,” she said. “I can’t walk yet.”

Ben seemed to think that was very funny, his mouth twitching, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he stooped and let her climb on. Most of the plants in the living room were named for tv show characters, though about a third were named after books (horror novel characters mostly, with some Neil Gaiman fantasy thrown in to spice it up). 

The plants in one corner of the office were all named for songs named for women (“Jolene,” “Valerie,” “Lola,” etc.) 

But as he jostled her through a roughshod introduction to the superhero corner, she said, “Ben, if you don’t feed me, I’m going to eat Wonder Woman.” 

Ben snorted. “You’re going to give me my first Lynda Carter boner in twenty years.” 

Ben’s pizza was fancy. It was just sitting in his fridge, not even frozen, a kind of flatbread thing with  _ artichokes _ and a jar of pesto to dollop on top. She took one look at it and started looking for  _ more _ . Ben watched, as she opened cabinets at random. 

“Don’t you have like...more chips? Or candy or something?” 

Both of his eyebrows went up at that. “This piece of pizza will be the first I’ve had in about four years.” 

Rey turned to him in shock. (She wouldn’t consider it a major food group or anything, but  _ four years _ ?) 

“Why did you have this then?”

He looked at her, then looked away, sharply. “When I indulge, I like to go hard.” 

Rey started ticking things off on her fingers. “Chips, pizza, Jack, hooker—”

“You’re not a hooker.” 

“For the sake of conversation. So why  _ tonight _ ?”

Rey found a bag of popcorn in the back of a cabinet (single serve, behind a stack of—also single serve—brown rice containers) and put it in the microwave. It seemed like Ben was going to ignore her question as he tapped on his phone with a furrowed brow. 

So, she returned the favor, going to find hers too. She wrote Finn a quick message and then went to Google, searching with one hand while she used the other and her teeth to open the popcorn. 

“You were jacking it to  _ he _ r?” Rey flipped her phone around, startled. It was less that Lynda Carter (who had apparently played Wonder Woman on TV, and apparently Lynda was spelled with a Y) wasn’t pretty, just that Ben wasn’t even alive when the show was airing.

Ben glanced over once and then did a double take. “Do you not know who Lynda Carter is?”

“You do?” 

Ben put his phone down on the counter. “There’s a place up the way that delivers late. You probably don’t want to ruin your appetite with that popcorn.” 

“Lynda Carter,” Rey demanded, shaking the phone screen, and then promptly pouring the rest of the popcorn in her mouth. 

He braced his hands on the kitchen’s island. It brought the muscles of his biceps into tension against his t-shirt. It was unfair how good he could look in a tee and sweats. 

“My dad...is a big fan. Used to watch  _ Wonder Woman _ sometimes. When I was a kid.” 

“Oh.” She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but he held up his hand. 

“I don’t want to talk about my parents.” 

She wanted to pick at that, but she decided to leave him and his rich boy problems alone. For the moment. 

“Okay, I’ll ask you about another inappropriate subject.” He circled his hand in the air, the universal signal for  _ go on _ . “So, what is that you do, that you can Venmo a stranger five grand and not even blink?”

"You saw my title. And my CV. I'm in acquisitions."

"So you take stuff."

His expression was like the very last moment before the Grinch's smile completely unfurled. "Generally speaking, yes. Whatever I want."

Rey’s pussy clenched and his smirk told her he knew it. Her nipples went hard as he stalked around the island and grabbed her by the hips. “I want to use your mouth before you stuff it with buffalo wings.” 

  
  
  
  


Later, when she sat on his lap, eating french fries and slurping a large Coke: 

“What are you scared of?” 

“That’s a rude question.” 

“Those are the kinds of questions that strangers answer, right?” 

“Is that what we are?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please come say hi on twitter! find me [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye)! (i still know absolutely nothing abt reylo twitter! help!)
> 
> if you liked this you might like: [maybe, possibly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924599)!
> 
> umm, also, maybe consider subscribing if you don't want to miss part three, where these idiots share their emotions and feelings, commit more smut and, um, consider that perhaps you CAN fall in love with someone in one night. (AND you learn the names of Ben's succulents.)


	3. my heart could be yours, won't you make it your home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey make each other feel feelings.   
> They are both very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading along so far! I am sorry this fic hung around beyond Valentine's Day, but I like this weird little love story and I hope you do too.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Rey said. “Do you know what would be amazing right now?” 

“What?” Ben was stretched out on the bed on his stomach, head, and shoulders over the foot of the bed. He was watching a Twitch stream on his phone. The lights were down low, but not full dark. 

Since he’d forgone putting his sweats back on, Rey has simply shoved her cold toes up under the hem of his boxer briefs. Ben’s ass was a great heating pad. 

“Twizzlers.”

She didn’t have to look at him to know he was pulling a face. 

“Licorice of any kind is disgusting. “ 

“So no late-night licorice run, then?” she asked, digging her toes into the flesh of his ass. Punishment, probably, for denying her. 

“No late-night licorice run,” he confirmed, completely ignoring her toes. 

He went quiet and so did she. He had a TV in his bedroom too, naturally, and it was playing  _ 22 Jump Street _ , (Ben liked the sequel, but it didn’t match the majesty of the first). It was muted and neither of them was really paying it any attention.

She had another second of kneading his ass and then a bright bolt of something that was almost panic but not quite. It broke her out in a sweat. That question she should have already asked herself (had asked herself a million times in her life: 

_ What the fuck was she doing? _

Really, who the hell did she think she was, hanging out with a rich guy in his rich guy apartment and eating his rich guy pizza. She’d only ended up in this building because she had no qualms about fucking a guy for a free dinner, and she would do it again tomorrow if she had to. She’d never even bothered with plants because she couldn’t keep them alive, but also maybe because she didn’t deserve to be surrounded by nice, pretty things. 

Rey wasn’t...Good things didn’t happen to Rey. She wasn’t made for them. 

(The word  _ worthy _ danced, ready to be snatched out of the air, but she wasn’t ready yet. But you didn’t leave worthy girls alone in the desert. You didn’t leave—) 

“I’m afraid I’m not good,” Ben announced, turning to her abruptly. She had to pull her feet out of his undies. He propped his elbow up on the mattress and balanced the side of his head in his palm. "To answer your question." 

Rey blinked. "How do you mean?" 

"Haven't you ever…” he trailed off, making and unmaking a fist with his free hand. His eyebrows came together in a weird expression. “I feel like there's something bad inside me. Something dark. I was such an angry kid.” He sounded like one too. A pissed off little boy. 

“I made my parents miserable," he went on. “Kept them on their toes. They put me in a million sports to deal with all of my ‘unchecked aggression.’ Tai-chi and meditation bullshit with my uncle. I was up to my ears in therapy.” His lips twisted to one side and then the other. 

What was it he’d said?  _ Mommy and Daddy didn’t love me enough. _

Something like rage caught fire in her stomach. (Sure sounded like they loved him plenty.) 

"You don't fuck like a good person," Rey said and watched his expression cloud. "You fuck like an asshole." 

Ben's eyes flickered. His voice was soft when he spoke. "That's kind of a messed up way to talk about what I thought was a very enjoyable sexual encounter. For both of us." 

_ Enjoyable sexual encounter _ . God. 

Rey scowled. "Yeah, I mean, I did enjoy it, I got off."

"Yeah, I know."

“But you fuck like an asshole.” His expression changed. Got wary. And then she had it. Him. It was on. A shark scenting blood. A lion cornering the weakest of its prey. “You have sex like an entitled, rich prick, who has always gotten whatever he wanted, and his dick wet by whatever means necessary. Even if it means paying broke college girls enough money to spread their legs.” 

She watched, as she spoke, his face, slide and flick through emotions, growing darker and darker, until it had flattened to nothing but cold. As close to blank as she’d seen it. 

Rey learned that he was fast. He got to his knees and wheeled around on her before she really knew he was on the move. It was probably instinct that made her kick out at him as he slapped her thighs open with the slabs he called hands. He was so fucking big and hard. His skin was hot and—

He sank a finger inside her like he’d been invited. 

“You always this wet?”

“Fuck you.” 

But she was.  _ Stunningly _ wet. She could get wet just from the smell of him and in his sheets, she was surrounded by it. She was wet from the way he’d hauled her legs apart, like she was his doll, his toy, his thing to  _ use _ . 

“I don’t think I want to hear you talk anymore.” The velvet of his voice couldn’t hide the frustration. “I just want to fuck you, since that’s what this is all about, right? Renting your pussy for a night.” 

It was wrong, she knew that. But she said  _ fuck me _ ,  _ do it. _ He only needed one hand to grab her wrists and hold them to the bed. She strained against them—just to try, just to see what would happen. His expression went stony and he pressed  _ harder _ . 

Rey was not running the show. 

She had a sudden flash of wanting to stroke her fingers through the strands of his hair. The way but she knew they would be all silky and soft. Soft. Like his mouth would be, if he would kiss her. But at this point, she probably didn’t deserve kisses. 

She deserved (needed) the way his hips sank between her spread thighs. The way he groped her tits and bit her cheeks and chin and ears and collarbone and sent her out of her mind with that special blend of pleasure and pain. 

He was all stark tendons as he used one hand to work his pants down long enough to free his dick. It was bigger than she remembered, thick and straining, the pinky-red head weeping with precum. She wanted to taste it, she wanted to kick his ass, she wanted to be furious with the world. 

Instead, she tried to raise up again but he pinned her harder, made her yelp with surprise, and the sharp pressure of him pressing the bones of her wrists together. 

“What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing? Tell me you want me to stop or  _ be still _ .” 

She went still. Went wetter. Looked on with dim confusion as he leaned over to wrench open the drawer of his nightstand. (Lucky for him he had the wingspan of a pterodactyl.) A condom. Lube. He managed to put both on one-handed. 

And when he was all lubed up and ready for her, with dark angry eyes, he pressed in. He wasn’t especially gentle about it. Not rough, exactly. But he pressed and _ kept going _ , even when she gasped and said  _ Ben oh my God Ben _ . He was opening her up. 

_ He was opening her up.  _

His eyes were gentler when he got in all the way, though he was panting with the effort. (So was she. She was wetter than a lake but still so much  _ smaller _ , and he had been so  _ determined _ .) 

“That’s it,” he said, in a soft, singsong voice. “That’s what you need, isn’t it? Mouthy girl needed to get fucked.” 

She whimpered. She didn’t know if she wanted him to move or stay still or let her leave, but he chose for her and that first thrust made her gasp, made her eyes roll back in her head, which was embarrassing and made him chuckle like an asshole. 

The thrusts were faster after that. She got lost in the feeling of him, when he finally let her wrists go and she could touch her fill of his sticky skin and grab his ass and pull him close.

Rey could safely say she’d never been fucked like this. With this edge of brutality that made her  _ cling _ to him because there was nowhere else to go. That made her beg. That made her clench when he said things to her like,  _ that’s my girl  _ and  _ tight little cunt _ and  _ fuck my way to your throat _ and  _ so beautiful, Rey, so beautiful _ . 

Emotional whiplash. 

When he angled her hips to hit her g-spot, she spun out of control. It felt like when she’d danced around in circles as a little girl, on the cusp of not being one. It was still fun, she still got deliriously dizzy. But it was almost not. If he didn’t stop she was going to come too fast and too hard, spin until she fell down, until she skinned her knees, until she was sick. 

Ben let her turn them over. He was too big and strong for it to be considered anything other than indulgent. 

“You're confident now,” he said with a strangled laugh. “You wanna ride my dick?” 

Her response was to grab his face in her hands, bounce harder. Later, she would get herself off to the memory of riding him, the sounds their bodies made as they came together. Wet and slapping and angry. 

She was  _ close _ . 

"Tell me you love my pussy." 

He groaned, sound lifting to the ceiling. "God I fucking love your—"

"Tell me it's the best you've ever had." 

He grabbed her ass in his hands,  _ helping _ . Using her body to fuck himself. "Yeah, yeah, baby, it's the best pussy. Best I ever had." 

"Tell me—" Finally, finally, she snapped: “Tell me I’m good, Ben.” 

He saw it. He’d already opened her up and then he saw  _ her _ . Ben grabbed her by the back of the head. Dragged it forward until their foreheads touched. He was strong—still lifting her, helping her bring them together. 

“Listen to me. You’re so good. You’re such— _ fuck _ —you’re such a good girl, Rey. You’re going to come for me. I’m so deep in your pretty cunt. I’m so deep inside you.” 

Terror. Terror because he was _ all the way  _ inside her. She wanted to hold him there, to stay. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Sweet girl. Come for me, please.” 

She would figure out that it was the  _ please _ that so unravelled her. That made her spin until she dissolved to pieces. She came crying and felt the uneven thrusts of him following her. She couldn’t be sure how long she sat there with him softening inside her. If she concentrated, she could see the flicker of the movie reflected in the dark wood of the headboard. And Ben’s big hands, stroking her back. His fingers finding the ridges of her spine.

Ben. Ben. Ben. 

She thought his name 1000 times before she worked up the courage to say it. 

“Lift up,” he said and the muscles in her legs quivered as she lifted up long enough for him to work the condom off. He knotted it and tossed it on the floor. (Disgusting.) 

“I’m sorry,” she said, nuzzling his face with her own. 

“You’re crying.” 

He settled her in his lap so he could see her face. He still prodded between her legs, but he’d gone soft and she’d never really felt a soft dick before. It was kind of nice. Or Ben’s was, anyway. Hell, she  _ was _ crying, and Ben had the nerve to be looking at her with knit eyebrows. 

“Okay, little weirdo, let’s talk.”

Her tears started fresh. “Don’t be nice to me.” 

Mouth twisting he said, “You done being a bitch?” 

Rey laughed, wet and low. “I don’t think I’m good either. Not good enough, anyway.” 

It was a long time before he spoke again. He wouldn’t look at her either. “My—my parents. They are...exceedingly good people. Good people who never wanted a child. They had their own interests and thriving careers and I...happened.” 

It was a little like he’d been practicing the words. Kind of rote, but not fully lived in. 

“They loved me, I think. I’m sure. But they were preoccupied. And I  _ hated  _ them for it. The last time we fought...we could’ve brought down the house. It was—bad.”

The way he winced told her that it really  _ was _ bad. Her hand was trembling when she reached out to cradle his cheek. He gazed back at her and she thought  _ have you ever really been touched before _ ? 

“This year,” he said slowly, makes “ten years since then. And we haven’t spoken. But. Valentine’s Day...it’s  _ the _ holiday in my family. They’ve always kept Haunkkah very low-key. New Year’s—eh. But Valentine’s Day. They decorate the house for weeks leading up to it. It’s a big fucking deal, you know. 

“And they used to have this fundraiser. I guess they still do. And I used to love it because everything was special and good for a day. And every year, for nine years, they still used to send me an invite. Even when I told them that I  _ wished they were dead _ .” 

The strain in his voice made her kiss him, but she couldn’t pull away. Just crushed her face to his as she said: “But not this year?”

“I threw the first one away. But every year after, I thought...I got a little closer, maybe—” 

Rey’s body shook as he sobbed, even as he dashed his tears with angry hands and he kept crying even when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close and he kept crying as she pulled her hand through his hair. He kept crying as she said,  _ you’re good Ben, I promise you’re good. You’re so, so good to me. _   
  


Later, as Rey scarfed a protein bar in his kitchen and Ben drank another finger of bourbon: 

“Let me guess...mathematician.” 

“That is the laziest low-hanging fruit—” 

“Engineering then.” 

“Very specific of you.” 

“I’m a word guy not a...mechanics guy.” 

“I’ll do all your mechanicing for you. Just keep the plants alive.” 

“Deal.” 

  
  


It didn’t take a lot of work. It felt easy like breathing: the way he hitched one of her smooth thighs over his hips. The way he pushed, little by little, a fullness that made her bite her lip, that made her fingers curl into the sheets. 

The only sound in the room, a wall clock, whiling away the minutes as they approached a brand new morning. He was fucking her so gently, even the bed was silent, swaying underneath them like a current. With a trembling hand, she reached out to stroke an errant lock of hair from his face. She tucked it behind his ear with lingering fingers, letting them slip over the planes of his face, ending with a barely-there tug on his bottom lip. 

“What are we doing?” she whispered. 

Because it felt like she was at the edge of something, like one foot hovered over a jagged chasm in the sand. 

Ben simply slid closer, so their entire bodies brushed as he rocked into her. She shook, actually  _ shook _ , and grabbed him around the arm. “Ben, you’re so deep, it’s—I—” 

The sound was lost to kisses, and she thought they might be an attempt to answer her question. Warm wet presses to her cheek and ear and shoulder. 

“I want to own you," he said, and she didn’t know if it was earnest or not. 

“Do I get to own you too?” Her voice wavered, she was on the edge of coming again. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

  
  
  


Later, when Rey demanded to be little spoon: 

“None of this is real, you know.” 

“Hmmm. But none of this is fake.” 

  
  
  


Rey woke up on February 15th, sick as a  _ dog, _ with Finn screaming at her. 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Ben said, snatching the phone away from her face. “I told you, she’s sick, not dead.” 

When she was finally able to crack open her eyes, Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad back to her. “I just wanted to call you to say that she probably wouldn’t make it home. I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“I’m okay, Finn,” Rey called out as best she could. “Ben’s not a murderer or anything.” 

He tossed a look over his shoulder that she was sure made grown men shrivel to husks. 

“See,” he said in a cordial enough tone, “she’s fine. I’m going to get her some soup. Rest easy, Rey’s best friend.” 

She drifted out of the end of their conversation, barely closing her fingers around his phone when he tossed it toward her.

“You’ve got a fever, you know,” Ben said, stroking her hair out of her face. 

“You don’t look so good yourself,” she countered, frowning. (Which was true. He still looked better than she felt, which seemed  _ deeply _ unfair.) If he had dark circles under his eyes, and pale sweaty skin, she was loathe to imagine what her own face looked like. 

“I always look good.” 

Rey rolled her eyes, but it hurt. It must have showed because Ben started rubbing her back in that half-sweet, half-horny way, squeezing her ass cheek with every other pass. “You should call your mom,” she said after a long while. 

“Please do not bring up my mother while I’m fondling you.” 

Rey shifted until she could press her forehead to his thigh. She needed to clock out the light. “Call her or I’m leaving.” 

He snorted. “The snow is up to your tits and I don’t think you could make a fist let alone put pants on.” She not only made a fist but she even managed to give him a very ineffectual punch. She repeated herself and he sighed. “Rey, that’s an extremely fucked up ultimatum.” 

She sank her teeth into his thigh with improved results. “You  _ want  _ to.” Rey held out a sweaty palm for him to hold and he grabbed it tight. 

“You can’t leave after this.” 

“Am I your prisoner?” Rey mumbled. 

“I think...you’re my person.” 

She was inclined to agree. 

It was interesting that Ben seemed to know his mother’s number by heart. The minute the call connect, both sides launched into argument. She’d never heard people arguing like that and her delirium, she had a moment of thinking if families argued like that, she might be better off. 

“ _ Ten years _ ,” she heard a woman yell on the other end. “We assumed—” 

“You gave up!” Ben bellowed. Rey didn’t have the energy to cover her ears. 

More screaming until Ben said: “Send it then!” 

  
  


Later, after they’d slurped chicken soup (from the deli around the block) directly from the container: 

“I’m tired. Tell me about the succulents.” 

“Pablo, Langston, Sylvia, Edgar.” 

“...poets.” 

“And this special girl is Mary.” 

“Mary?”

“After Mary Oliver.” 

“A favorite?”

“Heart, I implore you, it’s time to come back from the dark. It’s morning, the hills are pink, and the roses—” 

“You  _ are  _ a words guy.” 

  
  


Rey squished her feet into the ugly flats, left at Ben’s apartment by a...guest two years prior. (He hadn’t thrown them away because it would have been “wasteful.” She guessed he’d just forgotten.) They were a half size too small but that was the least of her worries. She struggled back into her bargain bin red dress and Ben was back in his ugly chartreuse jacket and the pants, which were, somehow, uglier. It was meant to make them equals since Rey was stuck in her water-stained slutwear. 

“Where did the suit come from?” Rey asked, as Ben gave her a piggyback ride down to their waiting car. (Ben called a  _ car _ , which was different than an Uber. But it was a limo. He shouldn’t have said  _ car _ when he meant  _ limo _ .) The snow was not quite up to her tits but there was enough. 

Ben crouched so she could climb into the backseat of the  _ limousine  _ of her own accord. He waved off the driver and climbed in beside her. 

“My best friend, Poe,” he said. Ben let his head flop back on the headrest, nose pointed toward the ceiling, hair curling away from his collar. “It was around Halloween. I don’t know,a couple years ago. And he says to me: that’s the ugliest suit I’ve ever seen, and I only know one motherfucker ugly enough to pull it off.” 

“You.” 

He held his hands out to his sides, lips curved into a smile. Rey didn’t know how long the ride was, only that she wanted to hold his hand the whole way. It had been her idea, when the heavy embossed card arrived, an invitation for Benjamin Solo, plus one, to the something-something Valentine’s Gala (reading had started to take a lot of effort). Ben had immediately said that they didn’t have to go. They were both sick, they had nothing to wear. 

Rey insisted that once she’d had a nap and some meds she’d be good to go. It was not  _ exactly _ true, but she was determined. (It didn’t hurt that Ben had spent the entire day tending to her. Ordering food and meds and letting her pick the movies, and getting her off with his fingers when she got that special blend of sick, bored and horny.) 

“Hey,” she hissed, as they climbed the stairs leading into the ballroom, “you didn’t say there would be photographers.”

“I said it was fancy.” 

“Yeah but—” she broke off as he pulled her into step beside him at the entryway. He told her to smile, with a little squeeze at the waist. She did and was rewarded with momentary blindness from the camera’s flash. She blinked and he’d pulled them through a registration table and discovered that they were to be seated at table two. 

The ballroom was decorated in the prettiest version of Valentine’s Day vomit. Shades of white and champagne with occasional, subtle hints of red. Enough sparkle to count, but not enough to be overwhelming. 

“There’s my mother—oh, and my father,” Ben said, pointing to the far wall. It was the cocktail portion of the evening so everyone was too busy trying to get drunk and impress someone else.

It took them a long time to make their way across the room, but Ben wasn’t gentle about pushing his way through the throng of people around his parents. 

“Mom. Dad. Hello. I know it would appear that I have hired a very sick...professional to join me this evening and make a mockery of your event. That is not the case. This is Rey Johnson, she is my—” he turned to her, stricken. 

Rey shrugged, and his mother arched an eyebrow and his father let out a chuckle around a quiet “shit.” 

A long pause followed and his mother stuck out her hand. “I’m Leia Organa-Solo. Am I to take it that you’ll be...around? Do I have you to thank for forcing my son to speak to me?”

“Yes and yes,” Ben cut in. 

“Then please, call me Leia,” she said and her face split into smile that made Rey smile back as they shook. “And this is my husband, Han.” 

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Han said, and shook her hand as well. “First girl my son has ever brought home.” He turned to Ben. “Helluva suit.” 

Ben gave him a gracious little nod. “We’re going to find our seats. Talk later?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Leia replied, with nothing less than imperiousness. 

It was less taking a seat, and more slumping into an available chair. She leaned her head against Ben’s shoulder and let out a massive groan. “I’m going to have to give you your money back.” 

“Why?” He yawned. 

“I don’t want to start...whatever this is with the money thing.” 

“I have money, Rey. Spend it on something crazy. Save it to blow in Vegas next year.” 

She tilted her head up to look at him, and found him staring at her, eyes sparkling. “Vegas?”

“I figure if you and me make it to next year, why wait? First plane to Vegas. Elope. Get married by Elvis Presley." When she didn't say anything, he lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss. "You know you're my favorite, right? You don't think you're good, but that I think you're the best. There's no one else I want to sit with." 

The _ever_ was implied.

Rey only knew that their picture had been taken when the flash left spots in her eyes. She still only saw him. And, yes, it _ was _ a little bit like she was  _ seeing _ for the first time.

  
  


Later, Ben keeps that photo on his desk _ and  _ on the mantle of their apartment, next to Mary: 

“Ben, that photo is  _ awful _ . We look like warmed-up zombies.” 

“That’s our first date.” 

“It’s so ugly.” 

“Hush, Rey ‘No Middle Name’ Solo. Let’s get ready for bed.” 

But that’s much, much later. They aren’t there quite yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please come say hi on twitter! find me [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye)! 
> 
> if you liked this you might like: [maybe, possibly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924599)! (friends-to-lovers, roller skates, flithy-mouthed Ben!) 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> please come say hi on twitter! find me [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye)! (i'm new and I know almost no one and absolutely nothing. help an old lady out.)
> 
> if you liked this you might like: [maybe, possibly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924599)!
> 
> umm, also, maybe consider subscribing if you don't want to miss a substantially smuttier part two wherein Ben asks questions like, "Do you know what you taste like, Rey?", our lovebirds have a brief discussion about _21 Jump Street_ and Rey tries to eat Ben out of house and home.


End file.
